Fair Pay: 6 Tips for Writers (and writing teachers)

Last month, as I filled my dining room table with receipts and mileages and 2022 credit card bills—all to prepare and file my 2022 taxes—I noticed a pattern.

Some of my expressive and creative writing workshops earned my regular hourly fee. Others were for a reduced, agreed-upon cost. Still others were freebies. And one was supposed to be fee-based, but turned out to be a non-paying gig.

Now that you’ve filed your taxes or asked for an extension, here are some been-there tips for getting paid for your time and expertise as a writer:

1. Talk money early: I’m proud to report that this math phobe is getting way more comfortable at saying, “My hourly teaching fee (or presentation fee or freelance writing fee) is $xyz. Does that fit with the organizational budget?” Saying this line and asking this question avoids wasted conversations and becomes much easier with practice and time.

2. Faux literary friendships don’t mean money: As writers, we often love to connect about just-read books. Or we swap opportunities or share experiences. But friendships aside, your time and expertise are just as valuable as other folks’ time and expertise. For example, that plumber who came to my house last year was a lovely fellow and yes, we had a grand chat, but I still had to pay him his set hourly rate.

3. Read and re-read your contract: This one is related to Number 2. Just because you’ve been hitting it off or chatting over the phone or email or even helping out with the event planning, don’t trust or assume that the hiring contract will be written in your favor. Avoid making naïve and costly assumptions. Read every line of that contract. Then decide if this event is right for you (see above about the surprise non-paying gig).

4. The author contract is about more than payment: Look for other, non-monetary items on that presenter’s contract, including audio visual equipment and the presence (or not) of on-site IT support or a delegated Zoom moderator. When you arrive at the site or digitally connect with your audience, you don’t want to invest your valuable time trying to get everything to work. Trust me on this one.

5. Time is money: If it’s a two- or multi-part workshop, ask if you will be expected to respond to students’ between-session emails. It’s fine if you do, but you need to know what to expect. For day- or weekend-long events, are faculty meals included in your stipend? Will you get reimbursed for accommodation costs or mileage? Again, don’t assume. For a multi-week or semester-long program, estimate your real time allocations—including prep time, teaching time, Zoom meetings, student email responses and other duties. Based on these, project your hourly rate. Is this rate financially viable for your budget?

6. Work for free? Yes, but be selective: If you’re going—or can afford to—work for free, make sure that the hosting organization’s mission aligns with your own values or interests. Or ask if there’s a non-monetary payout. When someone asks for a freebie, I ask myself two questions: (1) Am I being asked to work for free because someone has spent down (on other writers) or mismanaged their operating budget? Or (2) Do they really value my expertise, and this will be a mutually rewarding event or project?

The bottom line: Like everything else in our lives, choosing to lead a writing workshop (or do some business or grant writing or give a presentation or mentor a group of young writers) is a choice—usually a happy one. But remember: This is also time taken away from your own creative or writing time. So before you say “yes” to that freelance or programming request, think about what you need, what you can afford, what you’re willing to sacrifice and why.

That “noblesse oblige” thing? For those of us who have bills to pay and taxes to self-prepare, it’s a luxury we don’t have and cannot afford.

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Enjoyed this post? You may also enjoy:

“How Much Money do Writers Earn or Make?”

“What Questions Should You Ask Before You Lead a Writing Workshop or Retreat?”

“On Labor Day: What Your Day Job Brings to Your Writing (and vice versa)”

Sharing Your Writing Drafts? Here's My "No" List

When Should We Share Our Writing Drafts? And with Whom?

This morning, as I started yet another round of edits to my novel in progress, I thought, “Couldn’t I just hire someone to read and edit for me? Let them scribble all these notes and reminders in the margins.

By outsourcing, wouldn’t I fast-track the process from scribble-y draft to almost clean manuscript?

No. I’m not even close to the share-able state yet. Plus, I’m pretty reticent about sharing any of my works in progress (WIPs).

Finally, as a writer with a day job, I rarely or never have the time for weekly or monthly manuscript swaps or meetings with other writers.

Sharing Your Writing Drafts: Here’s My “No” List

1. The Unempathetic Person - Especially if you’re writing about something highly personal, painful or traumatic. In this case, be extra, extra, extra vigilant about who gets to see or preview that generative writing or those early drafts. For a start, let’s borrow from Brené Brown here and avoid anyone who may respond to your story with, “At least.” You know these folks. You reveal a personal story and they respond with sentences that begin with, “At least.” (At least you had a house to get foreclosed on/past-due food to give you food poisoning/a partner to fight with you.)

   It’s hard enough to write from a place of pain. Don’t add to this hardship and pain by giving your writing draft to … well … a self-centered pain.

2. The Family: Some family members can and will read your writing with an open mind. Others cannot or will not, and will (a) insert themselves into your story (“isn’t this character based on me?”) or (b) assert that their version or memory of this event is the only and better version or (c) be incapable of separating you, the kid, the sibling or the cousin, from the accomplished, grown-up writer that you are now.

   Two tips: (a) Don’t share generative or early-drafts of the work with a family member. Wait until you’re close to final draft (b) be clear with yourself and your family why you’re sharing and what exactly you want that family member to do in their post-reading response to you.

3. The Limited, Tone Deaf Person: Here, I’m talking about someone whose life experiences or reference points are so limited or privileged that they can’t even try to “get” your story or poem—let alone give those pages a fair reading. For example, a few years ago, after several back-and-forth emails, an acquisitions editor and I hit an impasse. They liked the writing. But they didn’t get what was story-worthy here. On a hunch, I turned to my old buddy Google. Ding! There it was: a set of this person’s own writings that were so social-class-bound and tone-deaf to contemporary headlines that, frankly, I should have known better than to submit here. The good news: As kids, most of us started reading because it opened the doors to a world that was foreign from ours. So most beta readers or potential editors can and will make the comprehension or cultural leap.

   But a few cannot. Or won’t.

As well as these three, let’s not forget Willie Nelson’s rules or personal “No” list.

As we decide how soon and with whom we choose to share our writing drafts, Willie’s list of outlawed behaviors is a good guideline for us.

In the above three-point list, have I missed anyone?

Enjoyed this post? You may also enjoy these related posts:

How Much Can We Write about Our Families?

How to Write Safe Truths in our Personal Essays or Memoirs

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What are the Best Holiday Gifts for Writers?

Last year, the best gift under my tree was a packet of black, ball-point pens from one of those office supply mega stores. I mean “best,” as in, this was the gift that got me really excited, that I couldn’t wait to open up and use.

Gift Ideas for the writer in your life - most under $10

My ballpoint pens had that rubber padding or sleeve around them, so I knew they were going to be much easier on my middle-finger writer’s bump.

And yes, there is such as thing as a writer’s bump. Mine dates back to doing my leaving certificate exam at my convent school in County Mayo.

Among all the people on your gift list, writers are really easy to make or craft or buy for. Basically, we'll adore just about anything that will make our writing lives easier—particularly if, like most writers, we’re balancing writing with a day job and a gazillion other things.

Here are my 9 gift ideas for the writers on your list

1. Small, pocket-sized notebooks: We need them for those middle-of-the-night ideas.  You can find them almost anywhere—including at large, cheap retail stores.

2. A box of professional looking thank-you cards (or two): I love to send out hand-written thank-you notes to business associates, editors, friends, book-discussion group hosts, bookstore event people and others.

3. Pens: Many. Pens.  Did I mention pens? See my intro above.

4. Post-it notes and index cards: Many, many post-it (sticky) notes--preferably in different colors and sizes. Index cards are good, too.

5. Blank journals:  Journals are where we do our morning pages and rough sketches before the first actual draft of the essay or story or book. Plain, lined journals are best. Artist's sketch pads work nicely, too. 

6. Gift cards to coffee shops, book shops and cafes: These days, in the era of COVID, it’s hard or unsafe to write in a coffee shop. But the sun will shine in 2022, and we’ll be able to write at those outdoor patio tables again. Coffee- or tea-shop gift cards are a winner. So are cards for bookshops.

7. Packs of ear plugs: These work well when we're writing in a cafe or restaurant or on the train commute.

8. Gift card to a guest house, writers retreat or writing workshop: So far, my gift ideas have been modestly priced, but if you really want to indulge and delight the writer in your life, buy them a gift card to a comfy hotel or a writers retreat or a virtual writing workshop. Make sure that the use-by dates are open so your writer can book a weekend or week that works for them.

9. A day pass or a membership at a co-working space: This doesn’t have to be any place too fancy, and there are plenty of choices out there. Or, if you live in or near central Massachusetts, check out this shared space, The Mill River Writers Nook, which is designed by a writer for writers. It offers single passes and memberships.

Enjoyed this article? You may also enjoy these blog posts:

How to Write in a Café or Coffee Shop

What’s the Best Kind of Writers Retreat for Me?

What Questions Should You Ask Before You Lead a Writing Workshop or Retreat?

I’m passionate (some would say ‘cranky’) about our right to tell our own story, to document our lived experiences as they have happened to us and have been processed through our individual consciousness.

As a writing workshop facilitator, it’s an honor and privilege to create the space in which new or seasoned writers can do this.

So when someone calls or emails with a potential writing workshop request, it’s really flattering. And, once that organizational host asks, it’s often tempting to immediately say, "Yes."

However …

Before signing that writing workshop contract, here are four questions to ask.

1. What is Your Budget for this Writing Workshop?

   Go on, ask it: "What is your allocated budget for this workshop or event?" This up-front question saves potentially wasted conversations and time.

   Let me tell you why.

   Free classes are under-appreciated. No, they don't "offer great exposure," or "look good on your CV or resume." Instead, no-cost often means no-show or partially engaged learners. Or it's an invitation to your hosting organization to take you and your expertise less than seriously. So name your fee. Then, document that fee and your invoicing terms and payment due date(s) in your formal contract.

   Should you ever offer a pro-bono workshop? Yes. Definitely. Or offer one income-based scholarship for one spot. But except for your own chosen non-profit causes, never agree to teach or facilitate a creative group for free--even if you can financially afford it.

2. Ask to Narrow or Focus the Workshop Topic

   Sometimes, a host or events person contacts you with a general idea: "We want to offer a writing class." or, "We saw your book and would love to do something on writing."

   Nudge them to narrow the focus. A well-defined topic will be much easier for the host organization to market and will make it simpler for potential students to grasp, conceptualize and prepare. So as the potential presenter, ask about the target audience, its demographics, and known or potential needs. Then, armed with this information, begin to frame and name your workshop.

3. Ask About the Writing Workshop Venue and Setup

   Here are three been-there scenarios: (1) I once landed in a new city to teach a day-long writing workshop in a building that was (surprise!) under heavy reconstruction. Think hard hats and jack hammers here.

   Half-way through the morning, I discovered that (surprise again!) there was no functioning toilet. (2) Years later, for a weekend-long intensive (different organization), our group was assigned a windowless room in a hotel basement. (3) Later still, in New York City, I had a plush hotel room and a mandatory, pre-workshop meeting with the hotel audio visual person to do a test run.

   Now (cue the quiz show jingle here), guess which workshop got me five-star instructor ratings? Nope, it wasn’t the noisy, no-toilet building.

   Nothing stymies learner engagement more than presentation rooms that are cold, musty, overcrowded or windowless. If possible, ask to visit or video-visit the venue to check it out beforehand. Also, if you’re in a school or library, ask what other programs are being offered simultaneously. Finally, document your specific audio visual needs right in your workshop contract.

   4. Who’s Boss Here? Establish Who will Really Lead this Workshop

   Once, I got hired to facilitate a three-day summer writing retreat in a gorgeous mountain setting in New England. Fantastic, right?

   Um ... Many host interruptions and content contradictions later, the students grew confused and distracted. They reminded me of children who wanted to listen to one parent while persistently glancing over their shoulders for the other parent’s consent or approval. This did not make for a good writing workshop experience. In fact, I wondered why I was hired or there.

   Writing workshops are dynamic and participatory, but someone needs to be the designated and consistent leader. Or leaders.

   So in that pre-workshop call, ask if your potential host will be there for the entire program. If so, ask what their on-the-ground role will actually be. Once you ask, listen to the answer. Then decide if this opportunity is right for you.

Writing workshops are magical. They’re fun and energizing. But before you agree to lead a workshop, prepare your questions and ask what you need to know before you say, "yes." On the workshop day, your host organization and your students will thank you for your pre-event care and preparation.

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Enjoyed this post?

You may also enjoy: OK, Zoomer: How to Get the Most out of a Virtual Writing Workshop

OR 5 Tips for Doing A Great Author Reading or Event or Presentation.

Interested in setting up a wellness or creative writing workshop for your organization?

Writing and Winter Blues

Can writing help me on my blah or down days? Can writing help with winter blues?

By mid November, my mood starts to match the New England weather outside my window.

In winter, my brain and my words turn monochrome, moody and sludgy. 

And yet ... we must get up every day and be grateful for this day and for being able to get up and out of bed. However busy we are, we must take time out to enjoy some small, incidental pleasures. 

So today, despite the weather woman's warnings of wind chills, I will leave my desk and get out there to take a walk in the winter sunlight. 

Or I love this guided meditation on washing away negativity.

10 Ways to Brighten Your Winter Work Day

Last year, I published a blog article, "10 Ways To Brighten Your Winter Work Day" at "World of Psychology," a series of wellness and mental health blogs hosted by PsychCentral.  

The article includes suggestions ranging from writing your morning pages, to eating protein-rich meals to brief workplace meditations.

Click here to read the complete article and my 10 tips for winter wellness.  

What are your tricks for winter writing and wellness? Share in the comments below. 

Ditch that Messy Draft. Embrace the Blank Writing Page.

Should I write a new draft? Or throw my writing away?

Yesterday I decided to dust off an old, Thanksgiving holiday-themed essay. It had already been drafted and re-drafted, so (I convinced myself) it would only take an hour to edit, fix and pitch.

The essay was written in 2011, when I had pitched it to a popular Sunday magazine in which I had been previously published. Back then, the editor returned it with a nice note saying that it just didn’t work for that publication.

Today, thanks to eight years of editorial distance, I understood why my original draft got rejected. Plus, I love to edit, so I convinced myself that a nip here and a tuck there would make that 2011 piece perfect and ready for a re-pitch.

Now, after more than 20 years of writing and publishing, wouldn’t you think I’d know that re-writes are never, ever easy or quick? So this afternoon, after a few botched attempts, I abandoned that old draft to open an empty page to hand-write a brand new version.

Here are four reasons to stop twiddling with that old draft to start over with a fresh piece:

Our narrative voices mature: Since 2011, I’ve published (lucky me) several other essays and a full-length book collection collection of my essays. Our narrative voices change and mature, and experiences change or deepen our perspectives. We need to write as the writer we have become, not the writer we once were.

Updated facts, statistics and research: When it comes to fact checking or supporting statistics, many things may have changed since our last draft. So check and insert the latest data.

Publishing trends change: Publications downsize staffing or change their editorial focus and submission requirements. While we try not to write for a specific market or readership, it’s foolish to pitch or submit something that doesn’t meet the target publication’s submission requirements.

A new draft gives a new chance to go deeper: For today’s piece, I ditched the old typed version and wrote the new piece by hand. Handwriting helps our critical thinking and lets us find a way into what we really want to say. So turn off your computer and pick up that notebook and pen.

If time equals money, then, given how long we spend writing and drafting, we writers are always working at a financial deficit. But time also equals quality. So if you want to write what matters to you now, today, consider starting from scratch with a new page.

P.S. I just got an acceptance letter for this Thanksgiving-themed essay, from a good editor at a paying market.

On Labor Day: What Your Day Job Brings to Your Writing (and vice versa)

Once, during a job interview, one of the interviewers confessed that she had google-ed me.

Then, she asked me if, as a creative writer, I actually had time for any other work—including that potential job.

This wasn’t friendly small talk between two just-met strangers.

Instead, everything about this woman told me that she believed I was capable of short changing the part of my life that mattered (day job) to feed the other (creative writing and teaching).

She couldn’t have been rude-er. She couldn’t have been wrong-er.

Do You Have Time to Write? Do You? Really?

Hasn’t it happened to you? You’re so gob-smacked by a stranger’s question that, at best, you respond with something evasive or inadequate.

Then, hours or days afterward, when the cocktail party or the job interview is all over, you think of all those clever things you could or should have said.

After that interview, here’s what I would have said: For the past 25 or more years, it’s because I work a busy day job that I can be a creative writer. And vice versa.

I would have also mentioned that being creative writers makes us empathetic colleagues and how good empathy makes for good workplaces. Also, for centuries, big and medium-name creative writers have worked in all sorts of roles and industries and jobs.

So today, on Labor Day, if you’re a writer with a day job, let me assure you that your writing and your job don’t have to compete or detract from each other.

What a Day Job Brings to Our Writing

Money:  A recent Authors Guild study of $5,000+ creative writers (memoir, fiction, essays, poetry, drama et al) showed that, based on book sales alone, writers make approximately $3,000 per year. If you’ve figured out a way to live on that, good for you! But collection agencies make very, very poor writing mentors. Without a roof over your head and food in your fridge, you will not write.

Creative freedom:  When the bills are paid, we are not as susceptible to the fads and fashions of the publishing industry. We can say ‘no’ to those freelance gigs that won’t augment our portfolios, build our Curriculum Vitae and that will probably yield more headaches than fiscal stability. When the bills are paid, we can write what really matters to us.

Time and project management: A day job gives us dual experience in (a) meeting set deadlines and (b) planning and managing a roster of projects. Both of these skills will support and advance the creative life.

Tenacity: There really are no free lunches. So the tenacity and problem-solving skills we learn and practice at work carry over into our writing lives. A writing project has stalled? An editor or agent is ghosting? We need to be good at defusing disagreements, setting next steps and developing a workable contingency plan.

So wherever you work, this Labor Day, I hope you’re writing. Also, I hope you’ll take a moment to be grateful for what your day job gives you and, just as important, what it gives to your writing.

My New Morning Run Is Giving Me New Writing Tips

Two months ago, just before Thanksgiving, I handed in my notice to leave my job in healthcare communications.

Some folks told me I was brave. Others inferred that I was either spoiled or crazy or both.

I had a number of reasons for leaving, and most are too complex to go into here.

Overall, I knew in my bones that it was time for a break, and the only way I could get myself that break was to make … well, a clean break. Also, I have a new book, Green Card & Other Essays, being published in spring 2019, and I had a number of final edits that needed my attention. Plus I have a half-complete novel draft that desperately needs some overdue love.

So I crossed my fingers, ignored my bank balance and granted myself a work sabbatical.

Now I’m two-plus months in, and I’m supposed to be basking in all this freedom, all these things that, this time last year, I longed to have, including more time to write.

Well, at least I’ve got the “basking” part down (smile).

I have always been an avid walker and hiker, so one of the best parts about being away from work is the extra outdoors time. Then, just before Christmas, I decided to turn my usual morning walk into a morning run.

Of course, I had a thousand reasons not to run: My mid-life knees aren’t what they used to be. Winter is cold here in New England. I hate Spandex (or is it Lycra?). And, if I got up to run a few mornings per week, wasn’t that cutting way into prime writing hours?

My first few days out, I did a kind of power-walk-and-run combo. Then, one morning, I just kept running—all the way down our local hiking trail and all the way home again.

Now, for all you seasoned runners out there, this is where you’re allowed to snicker behind your hands. Pretty and peaceful as our local hiking trail is, it’s nothing that would prepare me for the Olympics or even a mini-marathon. But running there feels great—especially as I enter that last little lap toward home.

I also know that this new running gig is teaching me about life and work and writing.

Here are 5 things that this (very) amateur jogger is learning about creative writing:

1. Nike has it right. For writing or jogging, there are morning when you have to shush the excuses and arguments inside your own head and “just do it.”

2. Running enhances the writing: As I thump along the blacktop trail, my mind wanders into and out of my novel’s plotting cul-de-sacs. I worry over (and sometimes solve) problems. I make editorial corrections. I get new ideas. There’s nothing like the cold wind against your cheeks to pump up the creative.

3. Push past your comfort zone: I’m learning that it’s all about setting your sights on a milestone up ahead and then, pushing to or beyond that set target. Like I say, I’m a long way from being a marathon-er (and probably never will be), but I’m learning that my body is capable of more than I thought. Also, that moment when I want to quit is also the moment when I should push on for an extra few hundred feet. Or, as writers, when we need to push on for a few hundred words more.

4. Healthy body. Healthy mind: It’s all about taking care of our own daily wellness. This is especially true when the winter blues and blahs can and do eclipse our self-confidence and our creative selves.

5. Prove yourself wrong: On the trail or on the page, I’m discovering the joy in proving my morning-grumpy self wrong.

Busy, Guilt-Ridden Writers! Write What You Can

Two weeks ago I attended an after-work spiritual retreat at Rolling Ridge, a  retreat facility and conference center that's located only about a half-hour from my office. It had been a hectic week, so I welcomed this chance to kick back, meditate and just generally let someone else do the talking or better yet, shush my brain altogether.    

The presenter began with a story about two monks--one older, one younger. One day, the junior monk confessed to his mentor how, as a neophyte, he could never seem to measure up; he could never be as pious as his elders. The younger monk said, "You get up so early every morning.  You seem to pray with all your heart and soul.  I could never hope to pray like that."

The elder monk smiled and said, "Why don't you pray what you can, not what you can't."

This advice really applies to our writing. It especially applies to those of us who constantly dither between our creative lives and our other responsibilities, including work. Honestly, there are weeks when I should get a golden gloves for all the jabs I take at myself, for how much I beat myself up over all that "I can't" do, or haven't done or failed to do.

In her inspirational blog for writers, Barbara Ann Yoder dubs this, "emotional self-flagellation," a state she finds counterproductive.

Barbara adds:

I think it’s important to acknowledge that jobs, relationships, cross-country moves, illnesses, and many other challenges can and do at times take precedence over writing.

For me, this "emotional self-flagellation" is often rooted in a monkish belief that only long-form writing stints qualify as "real" writing. 

Or, for another perspective, check out Lisa Romeo's writing blog, in which she also refutes that perennial advice about writing every day.

Lisa says:

But to my mind the most detrimental piece of standard writing advice is the one that declares that in order to be a *real* writer (whatever that is), one must write every single day, often amended to include that one must write a set number of pages or words, or a set amount of time per day.

Since attending that evening retreat, I've been trying to change my own thought processes.

On those days when I simply can't get 500 words on the page, I force myself to ask: What can I do?

Can I do a short morning meditation to clear my brain and develop a better and more creative attitude? Can I journal for five minutes?

journal

Can I switch on my laptop and just read yesterday's paragraph so that I have at least "visited" my work in progress for that day? Can I do a quick read-through and edit of the first paragraph? Can I write up a to-do list of what's left or outstanding in the work? Can I play a scene through my head while I'm driving to the day job?

By focusing on what I can do, I am actually getting more writing done--or at least, I'm staying more consistently engaged in the work.

And best of all, I'm on much better terms with myself--and this life called writing.

What on-the-fly, quickie writer strategies save your writing days?

Writers, Join this book giveaway by sharing your tips

This week I was lucky enough to be featured at The Writer's Place, a spiffy blog by writer Nancy Christie. Then, today, the interview gets included in Help for Writers.

I enjoyed the entire Writers Place interview, but I was especially charmed by Nancy's last question in which she asks for my "top three takeaways" (or tips) for balancing creativity with work (based on my book, Writer with a Day Job).

Here are my top 3 tips for balancing writing and life:

1.  Define your own path to writing and writing success. Comparing ourselves with other writers is counterproductive—even deadly.

2.  If you’re a beginner writer, create an overview of your month’s typical schedule and commitments. Circle the items that can either be outsourced or dropped altogether. Only keep those commitments that are truly, honestly as or more important in your life than writing. Even if you don’t use your freed-up time for actual writing, use it for writing-conducive activities such as reading, yoga or just sitting and staring into space.

3.  Learn how to say, “no.” When we do, people are not as miffed or disappointed as we assume that they will be. We fall into these “I should” and “I must” habits because —duh!— we’re not clear with others about what we need in order to nurture our talents as writers.

So you've got my three tips. Now, what are yours? Insert below in the Comments section and join my book giveaway. 

If we get 15 responses (each with your hot tips), I will enter all names in a random drawing for a signed copy of my book, WRITER with a DAY JOB. I will mail the book to the winner, so make sure to include a website or blog where I can reach you. Sorry, U.S. addresses only, please.

We need a minimum of 15 responses ... so ... pick and post your best tips... and spread the word  ... 

Thanks (giving) for my writing life

"It’s Thanksgiving,” he said down the payphone. His American voice sounded woken-up cranky.  "So my roommates are off work and gone home. ‘Like, Thanksgiving's a holiday over here.”  Oh, come on, I wanted to say.  I mean, with nobody getting born or killed or risen from the dead,  just how big could this 'holiday' of yours really be?  The year was 1986. The era: way, way pre-cellphone. The setting: My native Ireland.

But only for one more month. That day, the day before Thanksgiving, 1986,  the American Embassy had issued me a temporary visa. My lucky day. How lucky? I had even found an un-vandalized payphone to call across the Atlantic to one of my expatriate  friends. Now that I had my visa, I needed a landing pad in the land of the free.

I watched the last of my money clink into the payphone slot. “Is there a message?” The man asked.

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “Please tell my pal Mary that I’ll ring again next week. When she’s back from … um … this ... Thanksgiving." “Sure,” he said. Then ... Clunk.

Standing in that phone box, I was one of the 19% of unemployed young Irish people. I was among the estimated 30% of college graduates for whom there were no suitable jobs in our own country.  And we're not talking "dream job" or "creative job." In fact, I didn't even know what these terms meant.

As an unemployed person--then and now--you don’t feel like part of an unemployment statistic or a unified group.  There's just you. There’s just you and your shame and your assumption that everyone else—especially your old college friends—all have jobs. And those friends who have moved overseas? Yup, they have jobs, too. And new jobs mean new friends—the kind of friends who invite you home to their family for secular-sounding American holidays that aren't named for a saint or a savior.

Even more than a job, I needed a place to be—somewhere far away from that damp, November afternoon in Ireland.  Oh, yeah, as I left that phone box to walk through Dublin's city center, I knew it in my soul: I needed a life.

But there’s one big advantage to being 24 and jobless.  Your emigration to-do list is really short.

Get yourself a temporary American visa. Check. Empty your savings for a transatlantic airline ticket. Check.Start saying ‘goodbye’ to your family. Check.Track down an expatriate friend to lend you a couch and a place to stay.

Um … well … I was working on that last one.   But I couldn't work on it until this Thanksgiving thing was over, when I’d scrape up enough courage and spare change to call across the Atlantic again.

A month after Visa Day, I landed in JFK Airport, New York on a freezing afternoon. I had a backpack and a borrowed $200 and yes, a place to stay.

I never did get to California, at least, not to live. From New York I took a Trailways bus three hours upstate, where, as an act of mercy, a family member had set me up with his American friend. That American friend, a man I had never met before, would  pick me up and put me up until I got on my feet.

In America, I went and found me some jobs. I became a waitress, a bartender, a secretary (when we still called it that), a college administrative person, a marketing assistant, a substitute elementary school teacher (quelle disaster!) and ... well, a host of other things. One year, by the time Tax Day rolled around, I submitted a whopping nine W2 forms. I went back to grad school at night. And, even with a strange accent and with substantial holes in my resume, even during the most recent U.S. recession, I managed to stay (mostly) employed.

But did I really like any of my jobs? Did any of them feed me or my vague, dreamy hope of one day being a writer? As an immigrant and as a child of working class parents, there were many, many years before I even let myself consider these questions.

My writing and editorial skills led to better and more fulfilling jobs. Almost at the same time, I began submitting my writing to literary magazines. Suddenly, the rejection slips were intermingled with a few "we'd-like-to-publish" notes. Eventually, and still with a jittery disbelief, I found myself with a dual career as a creative writer and as communications professional.

kitchencounter

Yesterday morning, as I prepared for my 25th Thanksgiving in America, and before I left for my office and job,  I took my cup of coffee to the kitchen counter.

In my iPhone, I went through my last minute Thanksgiving list:

Turkey? Check.Cranberries? Check. Sweet potatoes? Check.A really good writing life?  Check. Check.

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Should You Come Out (as a writer) at Work?

It's happened again. This morning, my Google Alert told me that my name had been mentioned somewhere out there in the cyber galaxy.

Was it a glowing online review? Some writer blogger mentioning or  (or damning--who knows?) my book for writers? Some agent who had come upon my last novel and now, she or he had a question or a quibble or a hot writers' advance for the next book?

It was none of these.

Instead, it was a press release that I posted at work as part of my job as a communications director for a non-profit here in Massachusetts.

Dang. It's not that I'm disappointed that the search engines are picking up my work-generated press releases, but I don't like this public link between my paid work (aka, the day job) and my life as a creative writer.

I hate when that happens. In fact, I do everything I can to not have that happen, to keep  my day job and my writing life separate.  So I never stand in the lunch room blathering about last night's rough draft. Or I never announce a new publication.

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I don't invite my colleagues to any of my public readings or panel discussions.

I never bring one of my books to work, and I never, ever mention my workplace on Twitter or on my author's Facebook page. Sometimes, when and if a colleague reads a piece of mine or sees my name in the local newspaper (the arts, not the business section), I grow suddenly bashful and embarrassed, as if I've been caught out in a secret.

Why?

Mostly, I like to honor the requirements and ethics of my professional life and workplace. I feel grateful to have a job I like with colleagues I respect.  But then, I don't write anything salacious or pornographic or outrageous. I don't write on the job.  So what's the harm in sharing my life with those people with whom I wait in line for the coffee machine?  Just as they tell me about their kids and their kids' birthday parties, why can't I share my extra-curricular life?

Mostly, I want my colleagues to see me as fitting and fulfilling the role I'm paid for. So I hesitate to introduce another variable of myself, to charge them with seeing me in another and separate light.

And make no mistake: They are separate. The worker me and the writer me are very different. Especially on those self-effacing and writer-blocked days, I like the worker me better. It's a far more confident and competent version.  It's a version that gets things done.

But mostly, I think I keep things separate because, even when I'm writing fiction, some part of that manuscript will reveal my past and my innermost thoughts and sensibilities.

Do I really want my colleagues to know that much about me?

How do you manage it? Really, I'd love to know. Do you allow colleagues or business associates to share in the joys and challenges of your writing?

Do you share rough drafts with your family or life partner or best friend?